


He Who Has A Secret

by Trojie



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-06
Updated: 2010-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur knows what Merlin is hiding ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Who Has A Secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dk323](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dk323/gifts).



Arthur has two secrets.

One is his, the other is Merlin's. And he is good at keeping them secret. On the other hand, Merlin has only one secret, and he is absolutely predictably useless at keeping it. Arthur gets angry just thinking about how easy it would be for Merlin to be found out.

He doesn't worry that _he_ will ever be found out, because his secret is ridiculous. No-one could believe it. He scarcely believes it himself. If he were given to shame, he would be ashamed, but Merlin is too easy to want. Too easy to give in to, as well, which is why Arthur allows him to come on hunting trips, even when he _knows_ that there are bandits and Druids in the area.

Arthur curses himself for that, at the beginning of the interestingly supernatural fight. For once, it's Merlin who gets knocked out early. Arthur curses himself again, but he's slightly too busy worrying about dodging swords, axes _and_ bolts of lightning, and he figures that at least Merlin is out of the way of any further harm, and he throws himself angrily into the familiar rhythm of engage, defeat, engage, defeat, until he and his men are surrounded by bodies. That's when he looks around for his manservant and sees nothing but a drag-mark in the leaf-litter where he was.

Red mist, held at bay through the battle by dint of years of training, comes down hard when Arthur realises what's happened. But then he never trained for the possibility of losing someone he cared for. Knights, squires, men-at-arms, yes. He knows all about the duty to go on, the duty to fight for what they died for, but Merlin never fought for Camelot, or at least, not Uther's Camelot, he made that quite clear on many occasions. He fought for Arthur, for some fool's dream of what he thought Arthur could be as a king, and now he's paid the price. When any decent manservant would have been back in his master's chambers readying a nice hot fragrant bath and some clean clothes, Merlin insisted it was his job to come out here and flail around, because he could never bear to let Arthur out of his sight.

The knights are, to put it mildly, bemused by their leader's reaction to victory, which is to stomp off into the undergrowth. When he finds Merlin, dazedly blinking and surrounded by tracks, he hopes that the knights won't think too deeply about that little enigma, and he grabs Merlin by the scruff of his neck and hauls him to his feet, noting scrapes and bruises on the bits of skin he can see, and the matted damp patch at the back of Merlin's head.

Merlin's eyes look strange, feral. Oddly tawny. Arthur knows exactly what that is, feels a clench of fear in his gut that the knights might notice it. He tries to feign normality by pushing Merlin towards his horse, but has to grab him again as his knees fold. He has known of Merlin's ... abilities (_and he will not say what those are, even in his thoughts, because if he knows then he has to act_) for months. You can't not, when you start to pay attention to him, and Arthur pays too much attention to him, shameful attention that masters ought not to pay to manservants, but there you have it. And once you note his seeming innocence, the bones of his wrists, the blue of his eyes, you can't _not_ notice how frequent and keen the coincidences are - his presence at the defeat of any enemy, the outstretching of his hand, the _gold_ of his eyes.

Arthur wants Merlin, and he can't have him. But he also wants him safe, and _that_ he can achieve. He pushes aside knights and drags Merlin towards the horses. In the end, Merlin gets back to Camelot sitting in front of Arthur and being held up by one of Arthur's arms locked in front of him. Arthur is thankful his mount is so well-trained.

Gaius takes charge with a particularly fine eyebrow-raise and Arthur knows he should leave, but Merlin's still blinking slow and heavy, so Arthur takes his weight again and gets him to his little pallet. Gaius drags Merlin's shirt off and tuts at the state of him, tweaking the odd thorn from his skin and getting only a slight flinch each time.

'He's severely concussed,' Gaius says. 'Merlin, listen to me. You mustn't sleep yet.'

'Mm,' says Merlin distractedly. His eyelids droop. 'Tired.'

'I need to ascertain how bad the damage to his brain was,' Gaius says quietly to Arthur. 'Could you keep him talking please, sire?'

Normally, Arthur would make a joke about Merlin's mental faculties, but this is too serious. 'Merlin,' he says, shaking his manservant's shoulder. His skin is unnaturally warm under Arthur's fingers.

'Mm?'

'Merlin. Look at me.'

Merlin swings his head muzzily up. Gaius is bustling around as he normally does, but Arthur notices that his attention is fixed on Merlin, Merlin's reactions, rather than the herbs he's grinding in his mortar. 'Arthur,' Merlin says. 'Got hit.'

'I know. I clearly need to work harder on teaching you to duck.'

'W's distracted.'

'Oh, and what distracted you? A pretty butterfly? The end of your own nose?'

'Prat,' Merlin says, much more audibly than anything previous, and even Gaius snorts. 'Th'r w's man b'hind you.'

Arthur remembers - remembers someone shouting at him to look out. He'd whirled just as the man was dropping, dead, no longer a threat, and he hadn't wondered how the man was dead until now ...

'You were over the other side of the fight,' Arthur says. _Lie to me_ he add silently, willing it. _You have to lie to me_. Merlin shrugs heavily rather than deny anything.

'I think perhaps it is time to let Merlin get some rest,' Gaius says, interrupting Arthur's train of thought. 'You should go and eat, sire. And tell your father what happened.'

'My father will get his report from Sir Leon. I'm much more concerned with the state of my _clearly_ very confused manservant.'

Gaius gently settles Merlin on his one threadbare pillow and draws the blanket over him. He beckons Arthur out into the main room.

'Sire, I-'

Arthur holds up a hand. 'It is clear to me,' he says, 'that Merlin is muddled on the events of the fight.' He meets Gaius's eyes with his own, and stares, hoping his meaning is clear. 'I do not require any further explanations or discussion on the subject of what he did or did not do.' _Like fight off bandits while unconscious, or kill men from ten feet away_.

Gaius's expression is sharp and knowing. 'As your majesty wishes,' he murmurs, bowing slightly. He clears his throat. 'I ... have other patients to attend to, and as Merlin's ramblings may upset anyone else I ask to watch him, might I beg you, sire, to stay with him for a time?'

'Of course,' says Arthur, as graciously as he knows how, and walks back into Merlin's little room, grateful to the physician for giving him this time but also squirming at the feeling that Gaius knows too much, of Arthur and of why Arthur doesn't want to talk of Merlin.

Merlin stirs as Arthur closes the door. It is impossible to tell the colour of his eyes in the dim light of the room. 'Arthur, I-' he begins.

Arthur goes to his side, perches on the edge of the bed. Merlin looks up at him owlishly. 'Got t'say-' he tries again, wincing and feeling the back of his skull. 'Want'd t'tell you, so long-'

'I don't want to hear it,' Arthur says. When Merlin opens his mouth to protest, Arthur lays a hand over it, holding himself hard in check at the ferocious feeling that contact engenders in him. He leans down, closer, to whisper in Merlin's ear. 'I _can't_ know, do you understand?'

Merlin shakes his head, his breath coming in hot, sharp gusts against Arthur's palm. He pushes the hand away, weakly, and tries again. 'I have to-' and Arthur hates to cut him off when his speech is coming clearer each time, but ...

'That is an _order, Mer_lin,' he snaps. Merlin's eyes go wide. 'You are not to tell me. You are not to tell _anyone_.' The idea of Merlin confiding in someone else is a sharp pain to Arthur. '_Do you understand me?_'

Merlin nods, struggles to sit up. Arthur helps him, trying not to touch any more than is necessary. 'Things are secret for a _reason_,' he says, knowing he's talking about himself as well as Merlin when he says it. 'Your secret-'

Merlin's hand is suddenly at Arthur's cheek, pulling their foreheads together, their mouths, and Arthur should call Gaius, for this is either some enchantment or a symptom of the headwound, but he cannot bring himself to. Instead he forces gentleness, though after a fight it comes hard. When they are both forced to breath, Merlin smiles wickedly and groggily at Arthur and asks 'What makes you think I only have one?'


End file.
